


storms and sunrises

by hoosierbitch



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Female Character of Color, Friendship, Gen, Honesty, Loneliness, Team Dynamics, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson is pale and his skin sags in a way that a live man’s shouldn’t. When she holds his hand she can feel the muscle, completely limp, and the bone underneath. Melinda hasn’t cried since the Helicarrier started to turn her world off its axis, but Fury’s got a hand over his eye now, and she thinks his shoulders are shaking. Fury had been Phil’s CO. Phil might have been his first student. Definitely his oldest friend. She thinks Fury might be lonelier than she is. “Sir, I'll take the mission. I’ll take care of him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	storms and sunrises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raktajinos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raktajinos/gifts).



> **Note 1:** Thank you to the lovely mods for running this!  
>  **Note 2:** Requester, you are lovely, and your prompts were fantastic, and I tried to rewatch the end of the series in time to write some Jemma/Tripp, but didn't make it. Hopefully this meets the rest of your likes/requests well enough.

Phil’s one of the first people to say hello to her. Well, what he actually says is, “I’m so sorry, here, let me pick that up, I swear, this hallway is so dark, I think a light bulb might be out…” They both crouch to pick up the new hire paperwork she’d been given. He’s got a rueful smile and a Level 3 badge. She takes note of the way his fingers alphabetize her forms even though his eyes don’t leave her face. “You’re new, you’re obviously in operations…you must be Melinda May. Pleasure to meet you.” 

She’s been called a combination of Melissa, Moy, and Mu at least five times since she arrived; twice by her SO.

“My name’s Phil. Well, Agent Phil Coulson. I’ve heard great things about you. Maybe we could spar some time.” He stands up and hands her her papers back. “Everyone needs a good ass-kicking once in a while.” She stiffens, because everyone sees how slight and short she is and thinks she’ll be on the losing end, but Coulson’s not done surprising her. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a solid trouncing. I’m overdue.” He slips her his business card, waves, and walks back down the hallway he’d come through, squinting suspiciously at a burnt-out light bulb on the way. 

She doesn’t know if he’s hitting on her, suspicious of her, or stupid, but he’s definitely someone she’ll have to keep an eye on. 

*

Ten years and more security levels than either of them care about and she’s still keeping an eye on him. She keeps an eye on him when they walk through a field filled with landmines, stepping in each other’s footprints; when a mark slips something in his drink that makes him trip into walls and tell her secrets about his sex life that she’s kind of okay with knowing; and he’s there both times they try to hold her security level back because of poor people skills. It’s sexist. When she tells Phil, he’s honestly surprised. 

He asks her if she minds a second meeting. She shrugs. At some point she became pretty well inured to condescension and humiliation. Phil thanks her and goes ahead with it. 

He starts the meeting by slamming her file on the table, the first unnecessarily violent gesture she's ever seen him make, and says, “We work for an organization which is run by Nick goddamn Fury. ” He's standing at the head of the table, eyes blazing like the wrath of god. “If you think 'nice' is a requirement for acquiring power, you’re too stupid to be in this organization, let alone on this committee, and you need to leave right now." He crosses his arms across his chest and the strain of his biceps against his suit is visible. Their sparring has been paying off. "Sign her papers, and get out of my sight.” 

They sign and leave and Phil shuffles everything into a pile before apologizing for this meeting, for SHIELD, and for any hurt that he may have caused her, in a quiet voice that makes her like him even more. 

The second time it happens is years later, with an almost entirely new committee; few agents are stationary and the turnover rate is high. Natasha, who's Phil's newest pet project and slowly becoming May's second shadow, tells them about the decision that's already been made. The meeting is apparently an announcement, now, not a discussion. Coulson comes with her (Barton and Romanov are probably watching from some hidden corner like creepy, deadly bats). Coulson talks, and argues, and May stays quiet because she's been expecting the _No_ since Hill got turned down for Level 6. Phil waits until the meeting’s almost over before pressing a button on his phone. 

Like magic (or Phil's planning skills), Directory Nick Fury sweeps in, his trench coat flaring behind him like a badass flag, glaring at everyone like their faces, their outfits, their parents, and their future children have personally offended him. May thinks the glare actually works better with one eye than with two. “You’re the dumbasses in charge of this meeting, am I right?” They nod in unison like obedient children. “You have this agent’s mission reports, stats, and the recommendation of her CO, which I have also seen.” He looks around the room again. “You fuckers are all on the naughty list.” 

He looks down at May, who’s wearing her combat uniform because she’d expected a fight of some kind and it made her feel safer. Phil waves ‘Hello’ at Fury below table level like the dork he is, and she roll her eyes. Fury catches the exchange.

“This agent, I do like. Phil, get her paperwork done by tomorrow, please, I’d like to get you both to Bahrain by lunchtime. Hill will be running your op from base." He looks around the table again. "Fix that, too, since you're all already here.”

He leaves with as much panache as he entered.

May’s pretty sure she has a crush.

*

Bahrain turns out to be one of the worst missions they ever go on together, but through the years, it’s hard to keep track of the mission and countries and losses. They share beds when nights are cold or cots are few and far between. She knows his shoulders and bony elbows and surprisingly muscular frame; he knows that she only wants to be the little spoon if she’s been awake for over 72 hours, concussed, or drugged.

They never fuck, never make love, but she doesn’t think that devalues what they do share. They’ve both held each other when they thought that death was seconds away, they fought side by side without any weapons, they rescued each other time and time and time again and it takes all of that, it takes a decade, for her to trust that Phil Coulson is a good man, the kind of good man she’s never met before, and that they’re friends on a level so deep it feels like family. 

She doesn’t know what Phil thought of her, doesn’t know what category he’d but her in, what mental box he’d ticked: sister/friend/partner/lover/other. 

She should have asked before he died. She should have said, “I love you,” because he would have believed that she meant only and exactly that. She should have said, “Goodbye,” the last time they parted. 

Maybe if she’d still been The Cavalry and not Administrative Agent May in Denial. Maybe if she’d been there. Maybe if she’d been with Coulson side by side the way they always fought when the chips were in and the bets were off, maybe— May, May, maybe.

She and Coulson were never lovers but they loved each other dearly. She has never lost anyone she loved. In the wake of his loss, she turns to paperwork that blends the days together. 

(When the headsets crackled in the midst of New York’s destruction and Fury’s voice came through, it wasn't just the Avengers who turned their pain into fire and channeled their hatred towards Loki. It was May, and Hill, and everyone else who’d been graced with Phil’s smile and faith and trust. His funeral was standing room only. She joined Barton and Romanov on a rafter. They drank vodka until they were all too drunk to get safely down and slipped and slid their way to his grave to say goodbye in the middle of the night.)

*

Coulson lives. 

Fury takes her to see him while he’d still in recovery. They go through more scanners and security checks than she’s ever seen in a SHIELD facility. When Fury opens the door and she’s faced with the reality of it, she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t change her facial expression in the slightest; she just listens to Fury and his impossible story. 

Coulson is pale and his skin sags in a way that a live man’s shouldn’t. When she holds his hands she can feel the muscle, completely limp, and the bone underneath. There are aliens in the world, so she looks at Coulson and hopes with all the heart that Coulson swears she has that maybe there can be miracles, too. 

She squeezes Coulson’s hand too hard when Fury talks. “He’s getting his own plane. His own team. We need a mobile unit to deal with global threats, and he’s the only high-level agent I have who can deal with foreign governments and potential threats without pissing everyone off. Put together a list of what he’ll need on the team. He has to—SHIELD can’t—”

Melinda hasn’t cried since the Helicarrier started to turn her world off its axis. Fury’s got a hand over his eye now. Fury had been Phil’s CO. Phil might have been his first student. Definitely his oldest friend. She thinks Fury might be lonelier than she is. 

“I’ll take care of him.” She squeezes Phil’s hand and makes sure the door’s inside lock will engage before she leaves. 

*

It’s lonely on the bus.

Phil is building his team, because that’s what Phil does; treating people like puzzle pieces and rearranging them until they match. She sees Skye at a punching bag with Ward by her side and knows Phil’s at work behind the scenes. Skye’s the biggest variable, but now she’s got three sets of eyes watching her every move.

She’s never sure what Fitzsimmons are watching. 

There’s no one here she can talk to. Ward’s been intimidated by her (and attracted to her, if she's reading the signs right) since day one. She wouldn’t even know how to communicate with Fitzsimmons. Coulson’s either down with the ducklings or locked in his office. She does worry about the amount of time he spends alone. She debates for a week about whether or not to put a listening device in his office, but instead she tries the brave route, and knocks on the door. They sit in silence a lot. Sometimes they talk about the Avengers. Phil’s collections. The changes May wants to make to the cockpit. 

Phil doesn’t apologize for the mission that made her The Cavalry and he doesn’t apologize for bringing her back into the field. 

She, on the other hand, does ask him how he’s feeling. He always says he’s fine. His arm’s a bit stiff, but it’s barely noticeable. 

She tells Fury everything. Fury’s one of the few people in the world who love Coulson as much as she does. If Phil were gone, the heart of SHIELD would die. After New York, during the recovery efforts, it nearly had. She doesn’t think Fury would have been rallying the clean-up troops the way he had if he’d known that Phil wasn’t in a hospital room. 

*

Slowly, it becomes less lonely. Out of everyone on the plane, May should have suspected it would be the unknown variable who would make the difference. It’s a random afternoon when Skye pokes her head into the cockpit and asks, “Am I allowed in here? Or will I be shot?” 

“I don’t have a gun."

Skye gives her a long, evaluating look. "I think that’s May for ‘Say friend, and enter.’ So. Friend!” Skye climbs over to the copilot seat, ever-present laptop under one arm. 

May likes the reference (she loves Tolkien and rereads the trilogy once every three years), but only Coulson and Romanov (and nosy fucking Barton) get to know that.

Skye squirms around in the seat and takes in the control panel and clear, expansive windows with wide eyes and trademark calm-and-funny façade. “So you got the office with the view, huh? Sleep your way through the higher-ups to get here?” 

“Fury and I spent a magical night together.”

Skye’s eyes get bigger that May thought was anatomically possible. “What—what the—I don’t know if it would be weirder if that was true, or if you, Melinda May, made a joke. I have to tell Ward. No, Fitzsimmons. Oh my god. Everybody must know. Why is there no Bus twitter feed.” 

May raises an eyebrow. “Do you really think anyone’s going to believe that I said that?” She turns back to her controls and tells herself firmly that smirking is unbecoming. She’s not going to give Skye anything more tonight; conversation or ammunition. The joke alone might be—should be—enough to bring her back. (May tells herself that the whole conversation is just so that she could keep an eye on the girl, but—but there are too many hours in a day, and too many miles to fly, to stay so alone.)

“That is a terrible and brilliant plan,” Skye says, pulling out her laptop and side-eyeing May. “You devious mastermind.”

*

The next week May sneaks into the lab without making a sound, then positions herself right in front of the holo table and clears her throat. Fitzsimmons shriek in union. She keeps her laugh to herself.

“Lesson one,” she says. “Be aware of your surroundings.”

“We’re done with school,” Fitz says, hand over his heart. “Also, you’re a terrible teacher.”

“Lesson two: duck.” She doesn’t bother to throw anything, since she knows they're both going to drop. “Better.”

“What—you didn’t—I’m confused,” Simmons says, “which rarely happens, so if you could please explain your objectives?” 

May stands at parade rest and knows her face doesn’t show a single sign of fear, or concern, or anger. “You don’t need combat training, and we’re not going to give it to you. However, you keep ending up in combat situations.”

“Hey, that’s not our fault—” She glares and Fitz shuts up.

“I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself. You need to know when it’s best to run, when to hide, what orders SHIELD agents are most likely to give, and anything else we can think of.” 

“We’re not weak,” Simmons says, her jaw set and stubborn.

“We’ve fought before,” Fitz adds.

“Coulson and I both agree that the best course of action in an unstable environment is to evacuate you. More than likely, you’ll either be holding something dangerous and valuable, or you’ll be the only ones who know how to disable it.” She can see the uncertainty in their faces. Knows what it feels like to be the one left behind, the last one picked. “No one thinks you’re weak. No one thinks you’re afraid. I promise: learning how to run and hide is the best way to help the team.” 

They exchange a series of glances, which May always watches with interest; they look like kids in a photo booth.

“Okay,” Fitz says. “We’ll do it.”

“Good,” she says. “Duck.” This time she throws coasters at them. Fitz rubs ruefully at his forehead and Simmons, who had obeyed, giggles.

“Lesson three,” Fitz says with a sigh. “Do what May orders.” 

She quirks the corner of her mouth and both of them come around their lab table, ready to learn. 

*

Skye has started visiting her regularly. She still trains with Ward, and occasionally trails along behind Coulson like a lonely duckling, and sometimes she hides in the back of the SUV like a dragon with a hoard of candy, but she almost always seems to end up back in the cockpit.

“I’m not sure who named me,” Skye says one day, her laptop closed and held safe between her stomach and folded knees, her arms wrapped around them, looking even smaller than usual in the piloting seats that May finds impractically large. “The one on my made-up birth certificate is stupid as fuck. So when I left the system, I made my own. Skye sounded cool. I added an ‘e’ because I thought it would make me edgy.” Skye heaveds a big sigh. “I was going through a Goth phase,” she says, like that’s a shameful explanation that should clear things up. “I never made up a new last name.”

“Why?”

Skye hesitates, so May shifts and looks her in the eye. “I bounced between so many families when I was a foster, and some of them…” Skye avoids her gaze by fiddling with her shoes. “Some of them were shit, but some…some of them were nice. A few were permanent placement options, so—so I wanted them to keep me. I think maybe--maybe some of them wanted to. Every time I got taken away." It had been SHIELD at work, trying to protect her, but whoever'd been in charge had let Skye grow roots that went too deep and were yanked out too often. "There are four last names from sixteen years of living through hell that I wished were mine. Four families that maybe…” 

Skye clears her throat and sits up straight, staring out the side window. May respects her lonely pain and the strength it takes to carry on. 

Skye’s voice is rough when she speaks again. “Being on the bus is the first time I’ve liked my name because I like the sky for what it is.”

“It looks different up here,” May says, when it’s obvious Skye has finished speaking but doesn’t want to leave. “It’s different when the horizon never ends.” The clouds stretch out below them, a grey threatening mass that they might fly through. They both like storms. They both like sunrises and sunsets. When it’s clear, boring skies, Skye puts her earbuds in and May pulls out a book. (Skye has promised not to tell anyone that she reads fantasy novels. May calls it research. Skye just laughs.) 

“I like the name Skye,” May says. “It suits you.” 

Skye’s quiet for a long time, resting her chin on her knee, looking too young to be here, too young to have no last name, too young to be as smart and powerful and needed as she is. “Thanks,” Skye says. There are tears in her voice but none on her face. 

If Melinda knew how to comfort people, she’d pat Skye on the back, or hug her, or keep talking. But that’s what Coulson’s for, and Coulson’s in his office, rubbing the scar on his chest, phantom pains tugging at his mind and body.

Since Melinda is not a hugger, she adjusts the trajectory of the plane until they’re surrounded by gray clouds and rain starts to hit the windshield. 

*

Her training sessions with Fitzsimmons have been going well.

Today, not so much. She’d been greeted with the verbal barrage before the door had even fully opened.

“We were, uh—well, we were talking, about things, like you do. For instance, SHIELD missions, and so on, which led us to a discussion about combat operations and ways to increase efficacy in unpredictable situations—”

“We’ve been keeping the weaponry tech as up-to-date as we can, probably mostly because otherwise Stark starts sending the tech department 'Get Better Soon' flowers, but it’s possible that the armor upgrades could be rolled out at the same speed if—”

She holds up a hand and they shut up. She’ll never tell anyone (except Phil) that she finds the two adorable. And also incredibly valuable. The shortlist she’d gotten when she’d asked for graduating agents with the necessary experience to help Coulson if he needed it had been a _very_ short list, and the asterisk next to these two had made her pause. Strike Team Delta had an asterisk. She’s seen Clint and Natasha together and apart. She wanted this science team on the Bus. 

“One of you talk.” They both stare at her with wide eyes. Then at each other, with involves a lot of questioning glances and finger pointing, then they play a quick game of rock-paper-scissors, which Fitz loses. 

“Well, um, we—Simmons and I—and Skye—we were talking about…” His wince is distorting his entire face. “About your name…?”

“Melinda. May. Are we done?” 

“Skye said we should stop joking about how you got the nickname,” Simmons says, stepping up to Fitz’s side in a way that makes them both more comfortable. “She wouldn’t tell us what the real story was, or why it was so bad, and we were…”

“Curious,” Fitz finished. 

“It’s classified,” she said. “And I didn’t tell her. Coulson must have.” Coulson. Goddamn Coulson and his need to teach his team of ducklings cautionary tales. “But the basics aren’t complicated, and it will be good for you to know. It’ll be today’s lesson.” She clears her throat and wishes like hell she could figure out how to tell this story like it happened to someone else. She can fake it with her face, her voice, but her hands are already sweating. She can smell the pine needles that had littered the ground outside, smell snow in the air. “A mission went sideways, and I was solo on an attempt to retrieve something.” Agents, not ‘something,’ but she never gives anyone the whole truth. “It was…bad. Inside.” 

She hasn’t had a flashback in years but her fingers ache for the familiar shape of a pill bottle to help keep it at bay. 

“There weren’t bodies,” she says. “There were pieces. And whenever I encountered an enemy combatant, I added to those piles of parts. Ultimately, the rescue was successful. When back-up arrived..." It had been hard to tell where Melinda and her weaponry ended, and the piles of parts began. "End of story. The rumours grew.” Simmons’s face is full of pity; Fitz looks sorrowful. He’s seem more combat than Jemma so far. “And if you don’t mind, in the future I would prefer not to be reminded of that night.” 

“Of course,” Simmons says, right over Fitz’s “I’m sorry.” 

She can smell blood and keeps expecting her feet to slip on bile and gore. She still stops before she leaves, and gives them a small smile. “I don’t know where the exact nickname came from. I don’t even know how to ride a horse.” 

*

Lorelei nearly tears the team apart. Simmons hits Fitz on the head (and nearly gets Coulson, apparently) and May and Ward beat the ever-loving shit out of each other. She finds it very cathartic.

Thank god, literally, for Sif. 

Once they have Lorelei under control and her voice and powers bound by the gold bonds circling her neck, Sif bids them farewell. 

May catches them in the cargo bay before they leave and asks for a moment of their time. Sif nods and twists Lorelei until she’s standing still and mostly facing away. 

“I heard you held the Berserker staff, yet managed to retain your control,” Sif says. May nods. “That is no small feat. Why, when Thor—well." She smiles in a way that frightens and entices. "That is a story for a different time and many kegs of mead. Regardless, it is an honor to meet you, Agent May of SHIELD.” Sif gives her a half-bow that flusters May more than anything else she can remember has flustered her. 

It is time for them to leave, time for Lorelei to disappear and let the team lick their wounds, but May wouldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t take the chance. After The Cavalry, she thought the answer was _No_ and that it always would be. Now...now she doesn't know. She doesn't know how a different answer is possible, but she lived through New York, she's left fighting behind and welcomed it back into her body, she's seen Phil Coulson reborn and changed. 

“My lady—are you happy?” 

Sif stares at her, and May feels as though her life is being watched like a movie, every second of it carefully examined. “I am often happy,” Sif says quietly. “As I am often sad, and jealous, and vengeful. But that is not the meaning of your question.” Sif looks at her weapon, at the cargo bay doors, then back at May. “I made a choice centuries ago, and I make it again with every battle I enter. There is nothing I would rather do with my life than serve the Asgard. Nothing nobler. Nothing more honorable.” 

Sif hesitates and her hand tightens on the handle of her sword. “But that does not always—or even often—mean that I am happy, in my work or in my life.” A sad, rueful smile graces her face. “I fought to get into training. I fought to become a female warrior of Asgard. There was no choice offered to me; I saw a path—one path—and there was nothing else for me.” Her face softens, eye kind, looking straight at May in a way no human’s ever seen her before. Melinda feels as though she’s being blessed. “I think it is the same for you.” 

“But I want to be happy,” May whispers, quiet because walls have ears but Fitzsimmons have bugs planted everywhere. 

Sif touches her gently on the cheek, the backs of her fingers soft; they both have calluses on the insides of their fingers and palms. “Would you leave SHIELD to find that happiness?” May shakes her head and Sif’s fingers trails down her jaw. “Would you leave your team? Would you leave your people helpless, when you know you could help them?” 

She’d tried it. She’d tried paperwork and hiding. She had felt like ashamed, felt like an empty shell parading as a person. “In my life now, I am often happy,” May says, borrowing Sif’s words, “and I am often sad, and jealous, and vengeful.” She takes Sif’s hand and their mismatched calluses fit like puzzle pieces. “And I am often lonely, and confused, and horny, and lost, and—and I would say ‘human,’ but given the circumstances, perhaps I should say ‘alive,’”

Sif smiles. “Well-met, shield-sister. You use few words, but you have a gift with them.” Their handshake ends gently. They have no need to test each other’s strength. “I do not mean to be rude, but have we other matters to attend to?” May shakes her head. “Then for now, I will part. You and I—” Sif hesitates. “If we are not brought together by business, then I believe Midgardians call them…holidays?” 

“It’ll be my first one,” May says. “We can figure it out together.” 

They leave, Lorelei uselessly fighting with every step and Sif giving them a jaunty wave. May closes the door behind them and hears Coulson walking up behind her. 

“Looks like you had questions. Did you get answers?” 

May thinks about being alone in the cockpit and looking at rain with Skye. Thinks about Fitzsimmons using a chess timer to keep their chatter from overlapping when she’s around. She thinks about Ward, who may be as ill-suited to teamwork and as good at lying as she is. She thinks about the way Phil had pleaded for death and how hard he’s fighting to create a good life for all of them. 

Sif fights for Asgard. May fights for Coulson. “Yes. I got what I needed.” 

“Good. Do you want to punch Ward in the face a few more times? Me and Skye will hold him down.”

“How about a drink? You and me. Private debrief.” She looks at her bloodied knuckles. “I’ll even steal the small first aid kit and let you patch me up.” 

“You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse,” Phil says with a smile. “I’ll get the whiskey ready, you remember the iodine this time.” 

He goes up the stairs and she looks over at the lab, where a bickering Fitz and Simmons are patching Ward up. Simmons is doing the majority of the work. Fitz is wavering a bit, as he’s more than likely concussed. Simmons give him a tongue depressor to play with and pats him gently on the head. She’s probably already checked him over. May spots the lollipop in his pocket and knows she’s right.

May walks over to the SUV and opens the back door. Skye, leaning against the opposite door, jumps. She’s made a small nest in thereto retreat to the way Barton does when he feels cornered, somewhere defensible with food and weapons. Skye doesn’t have any bows or arrows, but she does have a lot of electronics, blankets and snack foods. 

“Hey,” May says, wondering if the spilled Doritos are going to attract mice. 

“Hey yourself, crazy fighting lady. Or. Some other nickname that I will come up with later that will be much cooler and incident-specific than that.” 

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“You need anything?” 

“No.” Skye looks deeply suspicious. “Did Lorelei bewitch you too? Am I being seduced right now?” 

“Skye, if I were seducing you, you’d know it. Because I’d be carrying Skittles.” Skye’s face lit up. “No Skittles.” Skye gives her sad face. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

“Thanks, May.” 

She shuts the door gently and takes another look around, taking stock of the team. She wonders if this is how Coulson feels all the time. Connected. After the mission that changed her from May to The Cavalry (the last resort, the solo rescue, the myth), they stopped expecting her to be part of a team. 

She grabs the first aid kit with a nod to Simmons, who’s happily bossing everyone around, and heads upstairs. 

Nothing’s perfect. Not the team, not any person on it, not the Bus itself, not even Nick Motherfuckin’ Fury. And she’ll tell him that the next time she calls in. She’ll tell him that Ward and Skye are learning from each other, that Fitz and Simmons deserve their own names, that Coulson may have new chemicals in his blood but his heart is still the same. And she’ll tell him that despite her misgivings about this mission, she is where she’s supposed to be. 

She’s happy here.


End file.
